


The Gift

by AZGirl



Category: NCIS
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-09 20:16:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZGirl/pseuds/AZGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hospitalized Tony is told a story which leads him to discover a secret about Gibbs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> There are several blink-and-miss-it references to a few different episodes plus a line of dialogue from 3.12 Boxed In.
> 
> Warning: Some violence is described, including the death of a child, but nothing graphic.

**ooooooo**

**ooooooo**

 

I, Tony DiNozzo, am bored.

Actually I’m uncomfortable because of my injury, feeling restless and would like nothing more than to get the hell out of the hospital. When asked though, I will tell them the truth – I’m fine. I don’t understand why I need to stay here for one to two days. I didn’t lose _that_ much blood and for once I don’t even have a concussion.

Sighing heavily, I shift my gaze to my right, but unfortunately the view hasn’t changed since the last time I looked out the window. Of course I would get stuck with the lovely vista of the red brick walls belonging to the adjacent hospital wing. Even the windows across the way provided no interest because they’re coated with some sort of reflective material preventing me from seeing inside those rooms.

Getting desperate now, I turn the TV back on and begin flipping through the channels once more. Perhaps there would be _something_ I would be interested enough to watch by now; something that didn’t threaten to send me into a coma. I can’t believe I had forgotten just how god-awful programming could be during the day. Half way through the available channels, I realize that none of the programs are different and I glance at the clock on the wall. No way could it only have been five minutes since the last time I’d channel surfed through the hospital’s limited selection! You would think I would’ve learned by now. It’s not like this wasn’t the seventh – eighth? twelfth? – time since I had been moved to my own room that I’d checked.

I had been briefly tempted to watch the Home Shopping Station earlier, but managed to resist its hypnotic lure. I didn’t want a repeat of the last time I’d stayed in the hospital and had become addicted to that damned channel. It was a good thing that their return policy had allowed me to return everything otherwise I’d still be paying off all the crap I bought while under the influence of the good drugs. Sometimes I wondered if Gibbs hadn’t somehow previously called my TV tormentors beforehand because of the way the customer service representative had reacted to the barest mention of my name and immediately transferred me to a supervisor.

I prefer to fight my own battles even though I outwardly complain about them, but secretly I love it when Boss does things like that. I love it when Gibbs shows how much he cares for his team without actually _saying_ that he cares about us. It’s probably where the ‘functional’ part of ‘functional mute’ comes into play.

Feeling only the tug of my stitches as I shifted my position on the bed, it occurred to me that the painkillers were still doing their job without making me too loopy. Maybe it was the drugs that were keeping me from completely relaxing and getting some sleep. Because of the current case, it had been way too many hours since I’d last had any sleep.

With another sigh, I turn my gaze towards my door hoping that view had somehow miraculously changed from a beige-colored wall sporting a so very stunning sign indicating that the ‘Nurse’s Station’ was to the left of my room. But, after only a glance, I confirmed that nothing had changed there either; it was still the same. Which leads me right back to the beginning and the fact that I was—

Bored.

Yes, I’d been injured and had supposedly lost a lot of blood, but I feel fine now. I don’t need to be here anymore. I’m good to go. I don’t need to stay here for observation.

Even though I will be desk bound until cleared for field duty by Ducky, I could still be there at NCIS right now helping the team catch the guy behind the creepy bastards who put me here in the first place. My team was out there right now working the case without me and I’m stuck here with nothing to do.

A nurse in brightly-colored scrubs enters my room to check in on me, disturbing my thoughts and providing a much needed distraction. I guess the one thing I did have left to do was to provide medical professionals with someone to poke and prod. She checks my vitals on the monitors and takes a peek at my bandages while I flirt with her even though she is probably old enough to be my mother. I told her that I was fine – as if that wasn’t obvious – and reiterated the fact that I didn’t need to stay any longer – again stating the obvious. As she left, she just smiled as if I’d told her something funny, and then suggested that I get some sleep, that I’d feel better in the morning.

Did she seriously think that I hadn’t tried to get some sleep a million times already? I didn’t dare ask for any help; they would probably drug me into oblivion and use it as an excuse to keep me here even longer. Besides, once I woke up again, the drugs that put me to sleep often left me feeling hung over and nauseous as if I’d binged on alcohol. The doctors have never been able to find a sedative which didn’t do that to me to some degree. I guess I’m my own personal ‘Say No to Drugs’ campaign.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and slowly exhale trying to relax and allow the creeping feeling of tiredness and exhaustion to lull me the rest of the way towards sleep, but it’s no use. All of my thoughts are caught up in a whirlwind which refuses to calm down. Over and over images of the case, the ambush in which I’d been injured, the idea that I’d missed something vital, and the desire to be out of here helping the team to catch the man responsible rush round and round through my head. They make me even more restless and unable to get the slightest bit comfortable on the truly uncomfortable bed. Eventually they lead me to recall the look on Gibbs’ face just after I’d tried to get up off the ground, only then discovering that I’d been shot. It had been a look that had screamed worry and guilt.

For a split second, as Gibbs had locked eyes with me, I thought I had recognized a look I’d rarely before seen on my boss’ face. It was a look that I had noticed showed up when one of the team was in danger or hurt in some way. I want to say that the look was simply regret for failing to keep us out of harm’s way, but this last time I would swear I also saw disappointment in the expression. The disappointment seemed not to be aimed at me for getting hurt but at himself for not preventing what had happened.

As far as I was concerned, Gibbs had absolutely no reason to feel like that. We had split up to investigate a lead in a warehouse full of crates and machinery – Gibbs and I had gone in the front and Ziva and McGee around the back. For some reason, Gibbs had suddenly stopped moving forward and he turned his head to look at me with an expression that even now is difficult to describe. He had peered forward again into the darkness, taken one more step, and then hissed out the word ‘ambush’ just seconds before gunfire had erupted.

Had Gibbs not warned me, had he not said something, then I’m absolutely certain that instead of feeling the heat of the bullet as it sped past my cheek, it would have killed me, and I would’ve have died the same way Kate had. I barely had time to register that thought given the chaos surrounding me and the instinct for survival kicking in. I don’t remember getting hit; don’t remember feeling the bullet entering my body. The only thing I do remember is something tripping me as I sought cover and a defensible position.

Given the nature of the situation, I obviously didn’t take the precious seconds to find out what had tripped me. Once it was all over, and we’d taken out or captured the bad guys; that was when the adrenaline had backed off enough to let me know something might be wrong. Gibbs was suddenly there when I had discovered I wouldn’t be getting up off the ground again under solely my own steam. Boss pushed me to lie back, taken out his handkerchief, and pressed it down over my wound. The pain he’d had to inflict in order to help stop the bleeding caused things to gray out for a short time, but I managed to come back to myself in time to hear part of something Gibbs mumbled. I can’t be sure, but what he said sounded something like, “…came almost too late to save him.” Some movement I made must have alerted him in some way, because Boss turned his head towards me and that’s when I’d seen the worry and guilt written plainly written on his face.

One question kept popping back into my mind from time-to-time. How did Gibbs know where I was in that warehouse? Things were happening so quickly that he couldn’t have seen which way I’d gone or known that I’d gotten hit. It seemed like he knew almost before I did that I was hurt and needed help. And how in the hell had he known we were about to be ambushed? Perhaps it was because of some instinct born of his long years out in the field or some left over Marine combat training. I really have no other way to explain how he always seems to know things.

I chuckle at the crazy thought that Gibbs’ Gut is not actually instinct or experience, but some sort of superpower. Despite wishful thinking and a brief vision of Gibbs in a superhero costume to the contrary, I know that’s impossible. My friend is just a man and in no way was his incredible sense of timing, his ability to detect lies, etc. anything out of the ordinary for someone who used to be a soldier and a sniper and had been a federal agent for twenty years. Still there were times, like today, that make it so I can’t help but wonder.

I open my eyes and am dismayed that the big clock on the wall shows that only a half hour had gone by since I’d attempted to fall asleep. Whipping one of the thin pillows out from behind my head, I beat on it a little to try and fluff it up. As I put it back, I spot the crutches I’d been given leaning against a shadowy part of the far wall of my room. I know I would rest better somewhere – _anywhere_ – else, so for the first time I consider the idea of going AWOL from the hospital. I decide against the idea for now because it’s still early yet and I would easily be caught trying to escape. I’ll give sleep another try first.

My body was craving it and I could feel sleep’s pull, but for some reason I just couldn’t let go. I had this problem nearly every time I was in the hospital and it was definitely worse when a case was still ongoing. I always rested and healed up better at home or at Gibbs’ house. I hate it here. Besides the people who worked here, who didn’t hate being in a hospital?

I rub a hand over my tired eyes and shift my position again, hoping I could find a more comfortable position, but that continues to be impossible. Closing my eyes, I try yet again to let the pull towards sleep I’m feeling carry me away, but a few minutes later I’m punching the mattress a few times in weary frustration.

It’s at this point when I once again catch sight of the crutches and let my frustration over my inability to sleep override both my good sense and the certainty that Gibbs would kill me if I left the hospital AMA. Thinking it’s better getting out of bed over with in one continuous move; I throw back the covers, sit up, and slide my legs over the side of the bed. My head feels a little off at the sudden change in elevation, but otherwise I was feeling fine. Somehow though, I’d forgotten that I was still tethered to monitors and IVs despite their pull when I moved. Then, as I begin to stand, I recognize the fact that I’m not as fine as I thought I was.

Being a stubborn idiot, I ignore my body’s warning signs and try to put weight on my bad leg. I may have the good drugs pumping through my veins, but they are no match for the blinding white pain I suddenly feel as I stand. The ground seems to suddenly be closer than it should be, but before I can go down and injure myself further, a pair of strong arms catches me. Around the edges of my vision, the white is tinged with black and I can barely think beyond _pain, pain, pain_ , but despite that I know it’s Gibbs who has caught me. He always catches me even when I don’t know I need it and even when I refuse to be caught. I will be forever thankful that man forced his way into my life.

I’m not sure how much time passes, but when I am capable of thinking again, I realize that I’m being maneuvered back into bed by my nurse and Gibbs. She gives me a lecture about calling for help when I need to use the bathroom and reminds me of what could have happened had my friend not been there. My one to two day stay could have become a week-long one had I injured myself further. The tone of her voice, along with the way her hands were waving all over the place to help her make her point, make me feel like a five-year old being scolded. It was so embarrassing, and yet Gibbs was obviously enjoying every single second of it. My nurse administers some more mild pain killers, and she leaves after a final reminder to wait for assistance before attempting to get out of bed again.

Gibbs has yet to say anything to me. So far he’s simply moved the room’s only chair from under the window to right next to my bed before sitting down in it. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes like he sometimes does when he’s interrogating a suspect. It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for me to crack under the pressure.

“Gibbs, I—”

He holds up a hand which immediately halts my speech, likely preventing me from putting my foot in my mouth as I usually am liable to do around him.

“What were you thinking?” he asks with a heated glare that would wither an entire nursery full of plants in ten seconds flat. I begin to answer, but he interrupts me. “Don’t. Don’t make excuses. You would, _could_ have cracked open that thick skull of yours had I not gotten here in time to prevent it. It could’ve been the head injury you might not have been able to come back from. Do you get what would’ve – damn it!– _could_ have happened because of your bone headed move? Don’t you realize how important you are to the team?”

“Sorry, Boss. I was bored and can’t seem, for the life of me, to be able to sleep. I thought I would be better off at my place, but obviously I was wrong,” I explain, a little freaked out by Gibbs’ outburst.

“You think?” he quips then reaches over to give me a headslap before wrapping the same hand around the back of my neck giving it a slight squeeze and letting go.

He’s about to say more when his phone rings. Reaching for it, the older man ignores the caller ID and flips it open, saying, “Yeah, Gibbs.” As the caller is speaking, Boss gives me this odd look and gets up from his chair to stand by the window. He lowers his voice, but I can still hear every word. “I had something I had to take care of, and am now with Tony. You and Ziva finish up what you’re doing and go home for the night.” Just before he hangs up, he concludes, “We’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow morning.”

Something he had to take care of? So Gibbs only came to see me because he was basically in the neighborhood? Considering the ongoing case, I didn’t really expect him to show up until much later, if at all, so I’m not going to complain about him showing up early.

Boss is just sitting down again as I ask, “Everything okay?”

My friend avoids looking directly into my eyes when he answers, “Yep.”

Unconvinced, I confirm, “You sure?” then I point to my ears, tapping one to remind him that the room wasn’t so big that I couldn’t still overhear him.

He sighs and says, “I took care of what I had to do and thought I’d hang out for a while. Got a problem with that?”

“No, Boss. No problem at all, except where’s your coffee?”

I’d noticed he didn’t have his ubiquitous cup of spoon-dissolving coffee with him, which made things feel even more…off. Something else was going on, but I had the feeling I was missing vital pieces of the puzzle.

“Figured I’d come here first to ask if you wanted me to bring you back something, and it’s a good thing I did, right DiNozzo?”

“Yeah…Thanks, Boss,” I reply still feeling like Gibbs is not telling me the whole truth. “Uh, a milkshake would be nice.”

Gibbs nods once as he stands. “Back soon,” he says, and then before he slips out the door, he orders, “Rest.”

Once my mentor leaves, I close my eyes and attempt to rest as ordered hoping I would finally fall asleep even though I didn’t really want to miss Boss’ visit. Unfortunately, even after my earlier stupidity, I still can’t seem to quiet my mind.

I flip on the TV again in the foolish hope that by now there had to be _something_ on to watch. But, as I’m flipping through the channels not really paying attention to what’s on them, some of the things the senior agent has said and done recently ping-pong around the inside of my head. Thoughts, phrases, and memories attempt to connect and some actually do connect, but I’m still not sure what the completed puzzle is supposed to look like.

I’m so deep in thought that I don’t realize Boss is back until the milkshake he’s handing me is right in front of my face and he’s saying, “I thought I told you to rest.”

Jumping a little and reaching for the remote to the television, I turn it off and reply, “Tried, but I can’t get my mind to shut off enough, and you know how well I _don’t_ sleep when I’m stuck in the hospital.”

Gibbs smirks and nods his head, “I know.”

I pick up the TV remote from my lap and toss it onto the tray table. “I feel… I can’t…get comfortable, and there’s nothing worth watching to distract my mind. And, not that I’m not grateful for your visit, but you’re not the most talkative person in the world, Gibbs.”

“I talk,” my friend tries to defend.

“Boss? Are you seriously going to go with that defense? Two words?” I spread my hands and announce, “Your Honor, I rest my case.”

My visitor leans forward and with a glare asks, “What do want me to say?”

“I don’t know… How about something about being Franks’ probie? Or, maybe something about your childhood? You know a lot about me, perhaps more than any other person on the planet, but I know so little about you. I know you’re a private person and all, but…please?” I turn on the puppy dog eyes just in case it will work for once with my friend and mentor.

Gibbs sits back in his chair and sips his coffee for a couple of long moments. I almost blurt something out when it seems like he’s really, seriously considering my request, but manage to keep quiet. If I hadn’t been paying such close attention, I would have missed it when his eyes went a little unfocused for a few seconds before they regain focus and he closes his eyes nodding his head once. He reopens his eyes and his gaze captures mine. In that one instant, I don’t think I could’ve broken eye contact with him even if I had tried.

“I’ll make you a deal, Tony. You lie back, close your eyes, and I’ll tell you a story that’s been handed down to me through many generations of my mom’s side of the family. If you rest, I promise to spring you from the hospital first thing tomorrow morning. You can stay with me. Deal?”

Somehow, I get the feeling that I shouldn’t be taking this deal or this decision lightly, but even knowing that, I barely hesitate before agreeing, “Deal.”

“Good. Maybe this will help quiet your mind so you can sleep.”

“Hope so, Gibbs.” I tap the side of my head and add, “I’m getting tired of all the noise.”

I take one last drink of my milkshake and set it down on the tray table. Lowering the head of my bed a little, I adjust my covers and get as comfortable as possible before closing my eyes.

“You done?” my friend asks with a slightly amused tone in his voice.

I nod and Gibbs begins his story:

“A long time ago—”

Before I can stop myself, I interrupt, blurting, “In a galaxy far, far away.”

The headslap that closely followed those words is not entirely unexpected. “Ow!”

I open my eyes and while I’m rubbing the sore spot, he locks eyes with me and in a menacing tone, he asks, “Planning on interrupting again?”

“No, Boss.”

“Good,” he says and sips his overly large coffee. “Relax, close your eyes, and just…listen.”

This time, as Gibbs begins his tale once more, I let his words wash over me as I’m transported to a time long ago and far away.

ooooooo

Hundreds of years ago, there was a small village located in a valley ringed with a thick forest and bordered on one side by a raging river. Because of farming and the tending of domestic livestock, the community, primarily made up of several interconnected families, was self-sufficient with each citizen sharing their skills for the betterment of all. They were content to let the world go along as was its wont.

In times past, few cared to travel beyond the confines of their hamlet and the location was remote enough that very few travelers ever visited. But, over many years, more and more travelers passed through with the occasional individual or small family choosing to stay feeling that Shady Vale was the right place to settle down and live out their lives. These people brought with them skills which allowed the hamlet to continue to flourish. It was a peaceful existence and the people living there never felt threatened by the outside world.

Throughout an unusually sweltering summer years later, the few visitors that passed through the Vale brought news of a small group of raiders intent on stealing whatever treasure and provisions they could find from the villages in their path. The latest reports confirmed that the group was heading in the general direction of Shady Vale, but the majority of the elders were confident that the remoteness of the village would protect the community from harm. Those in the minority argued that more protective measures should be taken including hiding a significant portion of their food and a safe haven to retreat to as a precaution. Some of the men, who had not been born in Shady Vale and had lived through similar attacks, lauded the ideas and suggested a few more. It was cautioned that remoteness alone was not a deterrent to attack and that in fact it might make them even more vulnerable in the long run.

Unbeknownst to the two arguing factions of the Elders’ Council in the Meeting House, several young children had hidden and were observing their parents from behind a large tapestry in a dark corner of the room. Among them was Brin, who was oldest of the group and one of the few to have the startling blue eyes that were so rare to that land. As her best friend Leah attempted to quiet the youngest who was complaining about the uncomfortably high temperature of their hiding place, Brin’s attention was captured by her father, Wil, who was recalling an attack on his village when he was a boy. She had never heard the story before having been deemed too young to hear of such violence. But, despite the terrifying things she heard described and the fear she felt at the possibility of the bad men coming to her home, she was not too worried about her little village. Brin knew that her father and her older brothers would help protect her family and keep them safe.

Nothing had been resolved at that meeting and no further news had come in about the raiders because very few travelers, if any, came through the village during the second half of summer. So when the attack came, it took everyone completely by surprise.

A beautiful morning had dawned, and to the relief of the village, the recent heat wave seemed to finally have been broken. Brin and Leah had been out feeding some of the livestock when they heard the first screams. Realizing what was happening; they ran hand-in-hand back towards their village praying that their loved ones would remain unharmed. Their fathers, despite the assurances of the majority of the elders, had come up with a plan to protect their own families. And now, in the chaos surrounding them, the girls were attempting to make their way to their families’ chosen hiding place.

As they ran, they did not notice that they were about to cross paths with four of the raiders who were on horseback. In a twist of fate, Brin tripped and though she did not completely fall, she did lose her grip on Leah’s hand. In her terror, Leah kept running and didn’t notice the danger she was in until too late. The young girl froze and was trampled to death by the horses while Brin watched horrified and full of guilt at the fate of her friend. If only Brin had not tripped, if she had kept hold of Leah’s hand, then maybe her friend would still be alive.

In the days after the attack, family members and friends grieved over their losses and tended their wounded, and the village began to slowly rebuild. Brin was overwhelmed with misery and inconsolable at the loss of her best friend. And adding to her deep heartache was the fact that her oldest and most favorite of her brothers, Jax, had died saving their pregnant mother.

The blue-eyed girl began to shun the company of the other village children and spent a great deal of time alone. She was consumed by thoughts of “what if” and guilt for letting go of Leah’s hand. Had her people only known about the danger before it happened, known it was coming in time to do something about it, then maybe Leah and Jax would still be alive. Brin began to wish with all her heart and soul that she could have known that her friends and family were in danger in time to prevent anything from happening to them. The wish was her first thought in the morning and her most fervent wish every night before she went to sleep.

Eventually her grief made her extremely ill, and she would have died had it not been for her family who refused to give up on her. Oddly enough though, it was the first cry of her newly born brother Jair that seemed to be the turning point for Brin’s recovery. Once she regained her strength, she was relentless in her desire to help her mother care for her youngest sibling. At first, her parents thought it a passing fancy, but they soon discovered that Jair’s sister seemed to have a knack for being there just when he needed something.

As Brin got older, her family discovered that this ‘talent’ did not center around Jair, but that it also extended to those she loved and considered family. She always seemed to arrive just when she was needed, and had an uncanny ability to know when traveling peddlers were lying about their wares. More than once she had known when her family was in danger once rescuing Jair who had wandered off and almost fallen into the river. The majority of the villagers did not know about Brin’s talent, but those who did trusted her words when she gave warning and were often saved from harm.

Several years later, Brin’s parents were awakened in the dead of night by a shrill scream and they found their oldest daughter in the throes of a nightmare. Once their blue-eyed girl woke, it was some time before her mother could quiet her fears and get her to talk about them. When she did speak, it was to tell her parents that she thought the whole village was in danger. Something was coming; something bad was definitely coming and if her warning wasn’t heeded, then the whole village would be destroyed and their friends and family would die.

Upon hearing his daughter’s declaration, Wil confessed to his family that there were rumors of a large band of marauders intent on wreaking havoc wherever they went. The brigands had already pillaged multiple hamlets and villages taking food and burning crops, committing extreme acts of violence and murder even upon children, and burning down entire villages leaving nothing but ashes behind. No one seemed to know when or where the mob was going to strike next, and some of the elders chose to believe the rumors were only a tale being told to frighten children into obeying their parents. However, with Brin’s testimony, Wil now knew that they were heading towards Shady Vale. The only question was how much time did they have left before the evil men attacked the village.

The next morning, Wil approached the Elders’ Council and spoke on his daughter’s behalf. He informed them of Brin’s gift and the ways it had manifested. The concerned father cited multiple examples of times when his daughter’s talent had not only saved his friends and family from the lies of crooked peddlers, but that it had also saved the lives of his youngest son and several others from the village. Wil encouraged his blue-eyed girl to speak of what her talent had warned her the previous night. At first, most of the elders scoffed at what they were being told, but when faced with witnesses from among the council and the account of Jair’s near-drowning, they could hardly continue to discount what they had been told. A very few still did not believe, but the majority of the elders did and that was enough to spur them into action.

Brin’s warning had come in time for the village to engage in a daring plan to save their homes. The community decided to make it look as though their land had been abandoned. Thankfully planting season was still some weeks away so the surrounding countryside would not give them away nor would they lose their crops to maintain their charade. Everyone in the village, from the very young to the very old, participated in practically dismantling their village. Deep, deep into the forest, the people retreated with their belongings, their food stores, and all the livestock. It was a massive undertaking, but it was done as quickly as possible for Brin’s sense of dread about the horde of men coming towards them increased daily.

Five days after the blue-eyed girl’s nightmare, the last of the villagers’ food stores were being relocated when those with the keenest hearing began to hear a thundering sound despite there being no clouds in the sky. One of the men realized that it was the sound of the marauders on horseback finally reaching their village, and as word spread, so did fear and horror spread amongst the villagers. The people waited and prayed that their plan would work terrified that they would be found out. Regardless of the villagers’ fears, Brin remained steadfast in her belief that they had done the right thing. Even if their village was burned to cinders, the buildings could be replaced – the same could not be said for their friends and family.

The horde of men stayed for several long hours, and as they rode away, they set fire to the village. But, as soon as the thundering of the hooves began to sound like a distant echo, all able-bodied villagers raced to save what buildings they could. In the end, three small homes, a barn, and the Meeting House were completely destroyed while several other buildings suffered various forms of damage. The only injuries were some cuts, scrapes, and minor burns of those who helped to fight the fires. No one had died and their livelihoods had been saved for the most part. It was a victory.

Brin was heralded as a hero, but she shied away from any attempts to formally praise and reward her. When Jair asked his sister why, the blue-eyed girl said that she had been given a gift and had done what she had not been able to do when Leah and Jax were killed – she had warned her friends and family in time and all their lives had been spared. It was reward enough.

In time, Brin had a family of her own, and her second son was born with the same startling blue eyes. It was clear he had inherited his mother’s gift, and Edain used it wisely throughout his life. In each successive generation, many children were born with the blue eyes, but only a few ever inherited their ancestor’s talent. Each one blessed to be born with the gift sometimes only inherited one or two of its aspects to varying degrees of giftedness, but there was always one child per generation who inherited Brin’s Gift in full. Each of the gifted ones used their talent to the benefit of their friends and family and many lives were spared throughout the years. Successive generations imparted upon the next Brin’s story, the importance of her gift, and how she had saved Shady Vale.

Many generations later, one branch of the family tree immigrated to America and eventually settled in Pennsylvania. Years later, a boy met a girl, who was one of Brin’s many descendants, and they got married. Two years after that, they were blessed with a son with startling blue eyes. It was clear from the very beginning of his life, that he was the one child of that generation to inherit Brin’s Gift in full. He chose a way of life that centered on keeping his homeland safe from harm. Even with his gift, the man was sometimes too late to help those that he loved. The loss of his family devastated him, but somehow he managed to go on living. He found a new calling and eventually he realized that he now had another family. Sometimes his gift stubbornly remained quiet or he was too late and he lost people he cared about, but more often than not, he managed to prevent tragedy and keep his family with him for a little while longer.

ooooooo

Awareness surges through me and I jolt awake. As I get my bearings – ambush, pain, hospital, boredom, Gibbs, story, morning – I turn my head and see the empty chair beside my bed. Gibbs must have gone home at some point during the night, but I know he’ll be back here soon. We made a deal and I obviously kept my end of it. In fact, I more than kept my end of our bargain – I was meant to get rest and Gibbs’ story managed to help me get the sleep I really wanted and apparently needed.

I’m actually kind of depressed that I fell asleep, because I was really enjoying hearing Gibbs’ tale. It seemed to be a piece of Gibbs that I think he’s rarely shared with anyone. I wonder how much I missed. The last thing I remember was a mention of Brin’s descendants immigrating to America and settling in…

Oh my God.

Pennsylvania…blue eyes…Gibbs’ Gut.

Oh. My. God.

No way. It can’t be. Brin’s Gift is just a legend. It can’t be real!

But it has to be. Last night I had wondered what the completed puzzle looked like that all these little clues fit in to, and Gibbs’ story inadvertently provided me with the missing pieces. What am I thinking? Inadvertently? Not likely. Bossman never does anything by accident.

I shake my head slightly and smile. Gibbs never does anything by accident, and now I know why. Or, at least I _think_ I do. He could just be messin’ with my head – it wouldn’t be the first or the last time. Except…I don’t think that’s right in this case. The story he told was too detailed and sounded as if he was reciting it from memory – not just making it up on the spot.

No. It was a real story. The question was how much Boss had intended on me hearing. He had used his calming-the-witness voice and had obviously meant for me to fall asleep, but did he count on me hearing so much of the story? Granted, I’m not exactly sure I heard the very end, but I definitely heard enough. Gibbs’ Gut is a legacy he inherited from Brin. It’s a lot to wrap my head around, and now I’m dying to know – hmm, probably shouldn’t use that phrase while in hospital – if I’m right.

I should ask him. I should ask him, but I figure a snowball has a better chance in hell than I do of him giving me a straight answer. Feeling boredom and impatience creep up on me, I ward it off by recalling the many times over the last ten years that Gibbs’ Gut has made a difference. All the instances add up to a pretty substantial amount of evidence to support my discovery.

One instance in particular sticks out, and I only know of it through McGee’s first-hand account. The incident happened quite a while ago when Ziva and I were stuck in that shipping container. When McGee and Gibbs had found the evidence of that shootout with the bad guys, Tim asked if they should put divers in the water. McGee’s recounting of Gibbs’ answer still gives me chills:

_“If they were dead, I'd know about it.” Boss had slightly shaken his head and continued, “They're not dead.”_

Had that confident declaration been Brin’s Gift in action?

There are just too many incidences to discount my theory, but one instance in particular definitely seems to discount it – Kate’s death. Maybe he didn’t get the warning in time? Or maybe his gut hadn’t worked that day because it had just been her time to die. It’s just as possible that the Gift is not perfect after all this time.

I sigh and wonder why Gibbs isn’t here yet. A deal is a deal and I want out of here as soon as possible. Knowing Gibbs, he’s probably just stopped to get his first fix of caffeine for the day. I know he loves that one diner’s coffee.

As if my thoughts alone have conjured it, I suddenly smell diner coffee. I breathe out a sigh of relief and a few seconds later, Gibbs strides into my room. Another reason for his delay becomes immediately clear as he dumps the go-bag from the trunk of my car down on the floor by the door.

“Hey Boss,” I greet with a smile. “Come to spring me?”

Gibbs smirks and takes a sip of his coffee. “You know the drill, DiNozzo.”

I let out a frustrated sigh and nod. After this long, of course I know the drill. It didn’t mean I had to like it or not wish he’d make an exception from time-to-time.

I had to wait for the doctor to give me a final check before Boss would even _think_ of springing me. Deal or no deal, if the Doc didn’t okay it, then I was stuck here until he did. Gibbs would never let me endanger my health by letting me get out of the hospital before I was ready. And, no matter how frustrating that unmentioned, permanent addendum was, I know Gibbs just cares about my well-being. It’s actually pretty awesome that I can always count on that fact.

I must have zoned out for a while because the next thing I know, my team leader is sitting down in the bedside chair, drinking his coffee and giving me a look I recognize. The narrowed eyes, the tilt of the head – oh yeah, I’m about to be interrogated.

“Something on your mind, DiNozzo?” _Bingo! I knew it!_ If ever there was an opening to ask my mentor about what I think I know, now is the time. It may a perfect opening, but in the end I don’t take advantage of it.

“Just sick of this place, Gibbs. You know how hospital scenes in movies rarely end well, and—”

“Try again,” Gibbs interjects, interrupting what would have been a spectacular deflection. How does he do that?  Brin’s story flashes into my mind for a brief second. Never mind, I know how he does it now.

“Well?” he prompts.

“I feel bad about falling asleep during your story” – which is completely true – “and I was wondering how much I missed.” – also completely true. But who am I kidding? He probably already knows what I think I know.

But, instead of calling me on it, he asks, “What do you last remember?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Something about Brin having a family of her own?” I definitely remember that part, but I still don’t let on to what I’ve guessed about Brin’s Gift. “What did I miss?”

Gibbs takes another sip of his coffee, and I briefly wonder how he made it all the way from the diner to the hospital without running out. Maybe he’s also able to conjure a never ending supply of coffee. I have to concentrate in order to stifle an inappropriately timed chuckle. It’s more likely he bought more than one cup of coffee.

Finally he answers my question, “Not much. My great-great grandparents immigrated here and eventually I was born.”

I’m pretty amazed that I got that much of an answer. “That’s it?”

“Yep,” he replies, and I can see from his smirk that he’s daring me to ask, for me to admit what I think I know.

But, do I ask? _Should_ I ask? I make a quick decision. “So how much of that story is just family legend?”

I’m actually asking a lot more than that, but I’ve decided to let Boss choose if he wants to admit to what I really want to know. Is Gibbs a recipient of Brin’s Gift?

Boss grins and replies, “It depends.”

I can’t help but match his grin and prompt, “On?”

“On whether or not you believe there were hordes of marauders on horseback who went from village to village pillaging and destroying them.”

My doctor walks into the room interrupting our conversation just as I’m about to comment. Oddly enough I’m actually fine with that. Gibbs doesn’t have to confirm or deny anything.

I’m just humbled by the fact that Gibbs’ Gut or Brin’s Gift – whatever it’s called – works with me. It means he cares. It means I’m a close friend or perhaps even considered family. It means that I’m incredibly grateful that he’s saved my life once again.

And it means that getting away with anything will be next to impossible, but it won’t hurt too much to try – the head slaps will be worth it.

ooooooo

  _The end._

  **ooooooo**

 

**_Thanks for reading!_ **

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to peanutmeg for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Originally posted on fanfiction.net, April 28, 2012, as a birthday gift for ncismom (as she's known on that site).


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